


Now, I'm Stuck

by MyckiCade



Series: As Sweet As This Is [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, general sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:43:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time that Peter buys Stiles flowers, he presents them to the boy in front of the rest of the pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now, I'm Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf. I am not that clever. This work is for fan enjoyment only. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: Brought to you by a wonderful prompt (thank you, Anon!).
> 
> Prompt: can you write just a flufftastic sweet steter fic, maybe where the rest of the pack even say like "they are worse than scott and alllison" just I want peter doting on stiles and stiles just being all cuddley and I want SWEETNESS because most steter fics are violent and rapey and manioulative, I just want them saying sickeningly cheesy and fluffy things and being cute in front of the pack

The first time that Peter buys Stiles flowers, he presents them to the boy in front of the rest of the pack. Isaac makes some off-handed comment about checking them for bees, but everyone else seems to be stunned into silence. No one expects this from him, least of all Stiles, it seems. The boy is staring at him like he's lost his mind, and, for a moment, Peter fears that he's made a serious error in judgment. Of course, Stiles won't want flowers from him, especially not in front of everyone. Why would he want people to know that he was seeing the older man, in the first place? What the hell was he thinking?

Peter's ready to drop the flowers in the trash, when Stiles steps up, saving his pride at the last possible second. The brilliant smile on the teenager's face is worth his moment of worry, however, as he takes the flowers from Peter.

“Aw, for me?” he teases, looking down into the small bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums. “They're pretty. That's sweet of you. Thank you.”

And, if the pack had been floored by the original gesture, they _have_ to be ready to drop as Stiles leans in to kiss Peter on the lips. 

...

Pack movie night comes around at its usual time and place, Friday night at seven, at Derek's loft. Stiles and Lydia start a popcorn fight in the kitchen before all of the kernels are even popped, Scott and Isaac bicker over who made a better Batman (Stiles is _finally_ teaching his best friend something about _decent_ movies), and Peter sits quietly under the scrutinizing gaze of his nephew. While he hasn't said anything, yet, it's no secret that Derek thinks Peter is up to no good with Stiles. One little kiss and a display of posies isn't going to change his mind.

With the snacks finally piled high in large bowls, drinks splayed across the table, and a DVD in the player, everyone moves themselves to the couch and surrounding floor. Peter takes a spot on the floor, his back against the right arm rest of the couch, keeping a bit of distance from some of the others. This is his first time at this little gathering, at Stiles' insistence, and he doesn't want to push his luck and risk upsetting the boy by getting himself tossed out of the loft.

Stiles kills the lights, before skittering over to the rest of the group. Peter pulls his knees toward his chest, in an effort to let Stiles by him to sit on the couch next to Scott and Allison. Stiles stops in front of him, and snorts a little laugh.

“Down, boy,” he chuckles, lightly slapping at Peter's jean-clad knees. Peter looks at him in confusion, even as he lowers his legs back to the ground. The answer to his unasked questions comes in a matter of seconds, as Stiles makes himself comfortable between Peter's legs, his back to the older man's chest. It surprises Peter for a moment, before Stiles grins up at him. “Hope you don't mind?”

Peter's wraps his arms around Stiles, snugly, rocking him from side to side for a just a moment. He drops a kiss the boy's temple, and smiles. “'Course not.”

They stay like that until the final credits roll, Stiles curled up in Peter's arms, the two of them paying less attention to the movie, and more to the simple enjoyment of being close to one another. 

...

“It's not okay,” Derek comments to Peter one rainy morning, as the ex-Alpha scrapes peanut butter on to a slice of toast. “We all know you're up to something. So, _end it,_ before I have to _make you._ ” Peter doesn't answer, just continues to run his knife over the thoroughly-coated slice of bread. Derek sighs in frustration. “Listen, just break it off, and everything can go back to normal. We all know you don't really want him, so, why can't you just let him be? He'll move on, Peter, find someone who'll genuinely care about him, instead of plotting ways to hurt him.”

Derek leaves out the window, and Peter waits until he is gone before setting his butter knife down onto the counter. It smears leftover bits of peanut butter and bread crumbs across the marble surface, but he pays it no attention. His focus remains on Stiles, and their relationship, and a bit too much on just how right his nephew thinks he is. On a few details, he definitely isn't wrong. Peter _couldn't_ just let Stiles be, not anymore. And, yes, the boy could likely find someone else, someone better, someone who deserves him. But, again, _he couldn't let Stiles be._ Not anymore.

Shaking his head, Peter re-caps the peanut butter jar, and replaces it in the cupboard. Tries not to think about what he really is up to. He rinses the knife, sets it in the sink. Tries not to worry about hurting Stiles. He gathers the plate of toast, and a glass of orange juice on to a tray, and moves down the hallway as quietly as he can. The entire apartment is silent, save for the gentle sloshing of the juice as it sways back and forth against the sides of the glass. After his conversation with Derek, Peter isn't so sure he finds that silence terribly inviting.

It's with a pathetic sense of relief that Peter opens the bedroom door to find that Stiles is still under the covers, cuddling a pillow tight in his arms. Setting the tray down on the night table, he slides onto the bed, on top of the comforter, and curls an arm around Stiles' waist. The boy doesn't move, even as Peter pulls up closer, practically clinging onto the smaller form. Burying his nose against dark hair, Peter closes his eyes. Derek is crazy if he thinks it could be so easy to make his uncle give this up, to talk him into letting go of the one thing in his life that makes any damned sense. If the pack doesn't like it, then they can all just join hands and walk straight into hell. He's keeping Stiles.


End file.
